


Don't

by Jenwryn



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, Denial, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-10
Updated: 2009-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Rukia badly misinterprets Ichigo's actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't

**Author's Note:**

> Written when I had only watched the first season of the anime.

Six-thirty in the evening, and the desk-lamp is flickering slightly. Papers rustle, sheets whisper, and the bed-head is sharp against her lower back.

He leans in towards her languidly; she flinches backwards and hisses, “Don't.”

Ichigo's eyes, as he pauses, mid-motion, and stares at her, tell her she's badly misinterpreted his movement and has made an utter fool of herself.

“Don't what?” he asks, his arm and his shoulder still half across her, and he's grown still, there, like that, one hand having reached its destination on his desk beyond her, but his body not moving. They're seated side by side on his bed, and he's been doing his homework, and she's been reading _shōjo_ manga to perfect her schoolgirl sparkle; now he tilts his head a little. His eyes are still so close to hers that she can see the shades of gold and questioning which are normally hidden away amongst the brown.

“Don't...” she repeats, but cannot complete the sentence.

What can she say? _Don't kiss me,_ which was the phrase her mind had first latched upon, albeit at a marked tangent compared to the reaction of this faux body (this body that isn't real, this body that isn't hers, and why does she keep forgetting that?); the idea her mind had first latched upon when she'd thought... when she'd thought he was going to...

He's barely more than a child, she tells herself, but his eyes are widening with a sudden understanding, and she can feel her own face heating in response. There's something grown-up about this, something in the stretch of his eyes, in the way they increase and fix in upon her intently. There's something in the way that they make her whole world alter, tip a little sideways, out of kilter, and his whole body feels somehow closer than it did a moment earlier.

Ichigo opens his mouth, closes it, almost smiles but doesn't, half-frowns, furrow-browed, and finishes his original motion to retrieve the book he'd reached for in the first place. His eyes are still gazing in her direction as his fingers close blindly around the spine of the text. He pulls his hand slowly back towards himself, only the slight unsteadiness of his fingers revealing that he might be feeling anything less than one-hundred-and-ten percent sure about what he's doing, and his sleeve brushes against the bare skin of her arm.

She shivers, and hates herself for it.

Not so long, she hasn't been here so very long as all that, and yet this – this – is this what it's like, this tug of humanity making her stomach do strange things? This tingle of fear, and sweet dart of anticipation, all bound up in one bright knot of feelings? The terror at the thought of his (unfamiliar) mouth descending on hers – the thrill at the thought of his (warm) mouth capturing her up...

Not so very long at all, and she's already acting as if she were as hormonal as the body she finds herself trapped in.

Which, she supposes, if she considers the matter rationally, is exactly what she is.

Ichigo's hands are both back in his own space, and his is face turned towards the chemistry equations in the book he has opened upon his knees, but his eyes are glancing sideways, towards her, at regular intervals. It doesn't matter how much she tells herself that he's barely more than a child; the expression in those eyes of his tells her that his subconscious knows better than that, even if he hasn't realised it himself yet.

And what would it hurt?, her own subconscious asks.

Ah, but the answers to that are manifold.

Ichigo turns a page, mumbles something about atoms and elements, thumbs the text absently, and then asks, “Are you okay, Rukia?”

She nods.

She can't stay here forever, she knows that, and surely she doesn't really want to.

And even if she could, even if she did, she can't pretend forever, can't hide forever, can't—

—can't sit here beside him, can't sit here with the warmth of his body, _real_, and the touch of his hands, _accidental_, can't...

“I'm fine,” she assures him.

_So long as you don't ever kiss me. _


End file.
